


The last man standing (stand up, don’t kneel)

by drunkenshrimp (svnwritten)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Post-Revolution, Post-War, X-EXO Clones (EXO), a little bit dystopian, everyone is a villain in this story, if you're looking for morally good characters, pls reconsider reading that, so much tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svnwritten/pseuds/drunkenshrimp
Summary: Bäekhyun thought he had endured everything by the time the war came to an end. He lost everything and everyone. Death was no longer an enemy, it was a friend. Maybe that’s why he held his chin high when they brought the love of his life back to him.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen
Comments: 31
Kudos: 65
Collections: EXODEUX Round 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my self-prompted fic for the wonderful clones fest! Be careful about the tags and trigger warnings listed below:  
> tw: war mention, death mention, blood, injuries, madness, implications of suicidal behavior, implications of physical and psychological torture
> 
> Additional note:  
> The behavior of some of the characters may seem a little bit messy but it's part of the story. They can't read each other minds, they act careless and under a lot of stress. Through their decisions, I tried to portray their inner conflicts and how lost and uncertain they are despite the act they put on.
> 
> Don’t get me wrong I love Taemin. He’s a living legend. Also, I needed someone gorgeous and can be intimidating therefore Taeyong. No hard feelings.  
> Shout out to the mods for being extra-patient with me!  
> And another shout out for my beta-read who ults Taemin <3

“ _Your pride will be your fall,_ ” he was once told and it only spurred him further. 

He didn’t mind falling if it meant that he would get to fly first. 

//

Silence engulfed the room when the cloth had been yanked from his head. Every breath, every quiet gasp: all the sounds instantly swallowed by the high ceiling - so high that it was reaching the bottom of the sky. It was silent and it was dark and it was quite ironic considering that they called Themselves “Warriors of the Light”. 

“Byun Baekhyun,” called Taeyong, announcing the name as a curse.

The crowd hissed. It was an open trial, anyone could come. And many, many wanted to see the man who was being judged today.

Bäekhyun couldn’t help but smirk. Perhaps, the memory of him wouldn’t die after all. It hardly mattered how people remembered him - he just wanted his name to carry like a story, like a legend. His name would become a grave and a memorial to all of those who were forgotten.

He slowly raised his gaze to look at Taeyong. In his memory, he was nothing but a kid: eyes wide with admiration and wonder. _How the tables had turned_ \- Bäekhyun thought bitterly, looking at the man in front of him. How did it happen that now it was Bäekhyun who was looked down at? 

“B _ä_ ekhyun,” he pointed out, not bothering to pitch his voice lower. It would be humiliating to pretend to be _humble_. “You pronounced it wrong. It’s Bäekhyun, not Baekhyun.”

He raised his chin higher, an act of defiance and a way to remind them all that they could strip him of everything but they couldn’t strip him of his pride. He had achieved too much, had committed too many sins to be shy.

The people in the crowd behind Bäekhyun’s back started whispering loudly. The buzzing of empty insults and threats filled the room like a melody, a battle song maybe. But the war was over - Bäekhyun reminded himself - that’s why he was here. 

Taeyong leaned forward on his high chair. It wasn’t a throne, after all, he believed in free choice and noble decisions. If Bäekhyun was in his place - he would choose a throne. A free choice had always been a mirage for him. 

_He had no interest in ruling the world, but he liked the power that came with being acknowledged._

“Byun Bäekhyun-”

“It’s _general_ Byun Bäekhyun,” Bäekhyun added with an innocent smile. 

Silver shackles around his wrists tightened dangerously. Spiked with poison and electricity rings dug into the flesh, marking his skin as theirs. _Your pride will be your fall_ \- echoed in Bäekhyun’s head. 

But, you see, Bäekhyun was a man who lost _everything_ and pride was the only thing he had left. 

Taeyong smiled at him and Bäekhyun hated how sincere it looked. As if he was smiling at a child who made an honest mistake.

“Weren’t you informed that your military titles have been called off? That your medals have been destroyed, Baekhyun?” Taeyong raised his eyebrow. Bäekhyun’s soul was burning with shame, _how dare they._.. He didn’t point out that Taeyong pronounced his name wrong again. 

“I must have missed the memo” Bäekhyun swallowed the acid in his throat, his voice sickly sweet. He wouldn’t let them see how he was breaking piece by piece. 

_Not when they had already seen him break months ago and not when everyone knew that he had never been the same ever since._

There’s why his eyes merely widened slightly when a familiar man stepped out of the shadows. After all that he had done, the sun should have burned him alive.

“The war is over, Byun. We all know that by yourself you’re all bark, no bite.” sighed Taemin loudly. Even though the shirt, it was obvious that his entire chest was wrapped in bandages. _Pity_ \- Bäekhyun thought - he was almost certain that Chanyeøl would accomplish at least that. That he would revenge Kaï even if it would be the last thing he had done.

Perhaps the defeat would taste sweeter if it was splashed with their enemies’ blood - Bäekhyun mused.

He hadn’t realized that he was silent for a heartbeat too long until Taemin’s lips spread in a smile. His whole presence, his happiness, irritated the wounds Bäekhyun thought were all healed by now. It was like a slap across the face - seeing Lee Taemin smile at him when he single-handedly murdered Kaï (Kaï of big eyes, wicked mind but loving heart. The only of them with a loving heart. Kind heart.) right in front of Chanyeøl’s eyes (shortly before the madness corrupted him completely). Seeing Lee Taemin with Bäekhyun’s own knife resting by his hip. Not as a weapon but as a trophy.

“I haven’t expected to see you again, Taemin,” Bäekhyun tipped his head with a snarl on his lips and draggers in his eyes.

Taemin stepped a little bit closer (the bastard was limping which months ago would make him an easy target but now made him a war hero) and his smile widened. (Wicked smiles, sick smiles, maybe he was infected with Chanyeøl’s madness as he slit him open.)

“Oh, Byun,” he sighed dreamingly, “You have no idea how many _old_ friends you’ll see today.” 

“In hell?” Bäekhyun cocked his head lazily. The death didn’t frighten him any more.

Not anymore.

Taemin laughed and the sound surprised everyone - including Taeyong who shifted on his high chair that wasn’t a throne. Taemin laughed like he killed: without an ounce of mercy and with no trace of kindness. (He had a talent for leaving scars that were unstitchable. He left wounds that couldn’t heal after he dragged his daggers through the skin, tearing it open. Wounds that left ugly marks, bleeding cuts.) 

A blink of a second and Taemin was right in front of Bäekhyun. And it startled Bäekhyun because Taemin didn’t look murderous - he looked curious. And there’s nothing more terrifying than a madman whose interest had been piqued. Bäekhyun held his head higher and eyes sharp. Kneeling was humiliating enough. The words slipped out of his mouth without a warning:

“At least we know for sure that there are friends I won’t see, right? Like Kibum or-”

The sound of one, violent slap cut Bäekhyun’s sentence in a half. A little bit of blood dripped down his chin (the same chin that he still held high, so high, as he watched the fire burn in Taemin’s eyes), his cheek was burning but - Bäekhyun concluded - watching Taemin so riled up was worth the pain.

“You little shit,” Taemin hissed through his teeth, chest heaving. 

“Taemin, that’s enough” called Taeyong, pushing himself off his chair, “Don’t let him get under your skin.” 

Taemin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The rings dug harder into Bäekhyun’s wrists as if someone wanted to warn him to keep it shut. Absently, he wondered who held the key. Who gripped the panel to his shackles in shaking hands. Who, hidden behind curtains and lurking in the shadows, tried to _tell_ him something (was it an insult or a threat - Bäekhyun couldn’t tell).

“Bring him here!” Taemin suddenly, and it was clear that he savored in the way Bäekhyun flinched.

“Taemin are you sure...” started Taeyong, gently touching Taemin’s shoulder.

But Taemin immediately shrugged his hand off, “Yes, I’m sure.” he snapped sharply. “I’m sure that our ex-general missed _his_ friend dearly. I said, bring him in!” 

A few men rushed presumably to fulfill the order but Bäekhyun didn’t let Taemin out of his sight. It was hard to look away from the wildfire burning in the bottom of his eyes and the maniacal stretch of his lips. (It was hardly a smile, a rageful grimace at best.) It didn’t even cross Bäekhyun’s mind to look away when Taemin was seconds away from setting the whole world on fire and laugh as it turned to ashes. (Heavy ashes that would clog Bäekhyun’s throat and lungs, until he couldn’t breathe and that would be when - only then - Taemin finally would find mercy on him and kill him at last.) 

After a couple of moments, Taemin met Bäekhyun’s gaze for a second. He looked like he was seconds away from drawing blood. He looked like he would enjoy doing that greatly. 

So maybe that’s why - because Bäekhyun felt like he was watching a puma getting ready to pounce at him - he didn’t realize when the crowd parted to make space for another prisoner. And he didn’t notice their presence until he heard the sound of knees hitting the cold, stony floor.

It was the stillness, the unnatural silence and the persistent eyes of the crowd fixed at his back that made Bäekhyun blink - once, twice, thrice - and shudder. He cocked his head to the side and glanced at the other prisoner.

“ _His friend_ ”, that was what Taemin had said. No, he didn’t _say_. He _mocked_. He spat out that word like it was a joke.

“You know who it is?” asked Taemin cheerfully, gracefully stepping towards the prisoner. His hand rested on the top of the cloth-covered head. “Can you recognize?” he prodded, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bäekhyun squinted at the hooded person, thinking of people who could have made it through the last battle. But the petite posture of this man didn’t remind him of anyone he had known.

_If anything it reminded him of the ghost from the past, of someone he lost a long time ago, of someone who was barely a man to begin with. Sharp cheekbones, eyes full- either of mirth of cold calculation and a tongue so wicked that it twisted his lips at the corners._

But that man died a long time ago. Bäekhyun huffed.

“No. I don’t think I know this person,” he said firmly and his voice stretched over the morbid silence of the room.

The prisoner flinched and raised his covered head as if he wanted to look at Bäekhyun. Look into his eyes and ask ‘do you really not know who i am?’. Look to see if Bäekhyun was brave enough to look back. 

_But many people who had known Bäekhyun were unknown to him._

Taemin giggled. 

“Oh, I think you hurt him, Bäekhyun,” he sing-sang, patting the top of the prisoner's head. “Perhaps, you should look him in the eyes and apologize?” 

The hood was snatched from his head and fell to the ground, making no sound and stopping Bäekhyun’s heart all at once. 

_The war messed up the world so bad and there were hardly any morals left and the lines between what was good and what was bad were blurred and easy to bend. So maybe that’s why the afterlife opened its gates and let the ghosts roam free around the world._

_Because a ghost was exactly what Bäekhyun saw._

A flower that was cut down way too early. A flower at its full bloom.

But death wasn’t kind to him at all: it took away the beautiful muscles that used to subtly shift under his skin. It stole the defiance of his movements. It ripped the energy out of him.

Other than that he looked like a lot of time had passed since they saw each other. (A lot of time had passed but, for Bäekhyun, the world stopped moving forward ever since that day.) His hair was much longer - now it was curling at the sides of his face, the waves soft against the pointed lines of his face. His features were sharper too - the sunken skin painted his cheekbones even more prominent and the pale colour of his lips made the curl of his mouth even more noticeable. 

(Everything about him was blurry though. Maybe it was just Bäekhyun’s vision. Maybe it was just as ghosts appeared. Maybe it was just a reminder that it could all be a dream.)

All the pride that held Bäekhyun straight, the confidence that held his chin high, blew up like a bomb. And nothing was left but an aching hole in his chest.

//

Jongdäe blinked heavily, eyes adjusting to the dimmed brightness of the room, before slowly meeting Bäekhyun’s eyes with his own.

 _Icy eyes, baby blue eyes_ \- he used to think secretly back in the days when blood was rushing hot beneath his skin. Now, however, his blood was running cold. And he wondered - if his heart was cut out at this moment - would it still be beating. And if it was, then who would it beat for?

//

Here was the thing about Bäekhyun: he was charismatic and prideful and he made people squirm under his gaze. He never lowered his head and he didn’t bend to anyone. Not even once. 

But now, he wished to perish, vanish into thin air, fall into a thousand specks of dust that would be impossible to collect. He would become a scrap of the universe that was so tiny, he would be able to crawl beneath Jongdäe’s skin, sink deep into his bones and keep his heart warm if he still had a heart left. And he would also whisper “gods, I didn’t know, Jongdäe, if only I knew” or cry “you’re not dead, thank the world, you’re not dead”. 

And he would beg for forgiveness too. 

Bäekhyun would do that in a heartbeat if he was _allowed_ to do that. 

Instead, trapped in terrifying uncertainty, he straightened his back, eyes turning cold once again (because the ice in them melted and he could feel it drip down the walls of his soul) and looked back at Taemin. A crowded room full of wolves was not the right place to whisper sweet little nothings.

“So, it’s Jongdäe.” he said evenly and Taemin’s eyebrows furrowed because he expected a lot of things but Bäekhyun sounding _bored_ wasn’t one of them. 

(He couldn’t possibly tell that Bäekhyun was bleeding out with every word, crying for understanding through the bond he once shared with someone whom he thought had died a long time ago.)

But Taemin collected himself faster than Bäekhyun hoped. He clasped his hands together and turned his attention back to the crowd.

“Kim Jongdäe it is!” he howled, voice barely rising above the sound of nervous chatter. “Kim Jongdäe. Chën. _A war criminal_. Accused of being the right hand of Byun Bäekhyun during the first and the second Government Collapse. Admitted to plotting against the rightful leader of these lands Lee Taeyong.” Taemin smirked and looked back at Bäekhyun. His eyes were shining. “Byun Bäekhyun and Kim Jongdäe, truly, I’ve never thought I’d have both of them on their knees in front of me. Judgement Day has finally come.” 

“They should be punished for what they did!” yelled someone from the crowd and Bäekhyun rolled his eyes. _How unoriginal_. His eyes darted to Jongdäe to once again take-in the suffering written all over his body. _Wasn’t Jongdäe punished enough?_

A few more voices blatantly agreed with the statement. Taemin nodded seriously, the grin still plastered across his face.

“They absolutely should!” he affirmed and turned to Taeyong, who had been watching the entire scene wordlessly. 

_“He is a wise leader,”_ Bäekhyun thought impassively. _“Even if he wanted to show mercy, he can’t. Not when the people crave to see blood.”_ He was prepared to die. But he would never be ready to accept Jongdäe dying. Not again. Not when, for Bäekhyun, Jongdäe was dead for months and only now was brought back to life.

“We’re not cruel, Taemin…” said Taeyong slowly, cautiously. 

“No, we’re not! That’s why we’re going to offer a deal!” Taemin spread his arms, “They are free to choose who’s more deserving to die. And The High Court may take their decision into consideration before announcing the final verdict.” 

Bäekhyun stifled a laugh. Taemin had said that as if the choice wasn’t obvious. As if Bäekhyun would let Jongdäe die, knowing that he had a chance to save him. He straightened his back, hands balled into fists that made his pride crumble like a house of cards. His lips parted and he braced himself to announce - how he wished to think ‘ordered’ - his death.

“Just kill me.” 

It sounded so simple and so emotionless that it raised goosebumps on Bäekhyun’s skin. And it took him another second to realize that he wasn’t the one who spoke. 

“If you want to show mercy, just kill me.” repeated Jongdäe, staring sternly at Taeyong and Taeyong only and Bäekhyun felt the blood in his veins run cold. Jongdäe sounded so tired, and his voice was so hoarse and rough that Bäekhyun barely recognized it. “Killing me is an act of mercy, _I’m begging,_ kill me.” he was choking on each word almost as if he was trying not to cry down.

Bäekhyun felt himself shaking to the core. He remembered Jongdäe as cunning, cocky and infuriatingly pretentious. Proud too, though in a different way than Bäekhyun. He remembered him as a genius behind their success. The anger slowly grew in Bäekhyun’s aching chest. _What have they done to Jongdäe if he wished for death?_

Bäekhyun wondered if he could break the rings around his wrists like they tried to break open his skin. He wondered what would happen if he did that, crossed the distance and held Jongäe against his chest. Would he push him away like he used to? Or would he make an exception this one time? And if Bäekhyun shook his shoulders'? Would he snap out of this?

If Bäekhyun could touch him without burning down just one time, he would finally regain his peace. Something he hadn’t felt in a while. (Not since Jongdäe told him to stay behind, promising that he knew what he was doing. Not since he saw Jongdäe’s seemingly lifeless body in Lucas’ hands. Not since, for the first time in his life he felt tears sprout out of his eyes as he screamed “Give him back to me”. Ever since then, Bäekhyun hadn’t felt an ounce of peace.) 

Jongdäe’s eyes flicked to Bäekhyun’s for a split of a second, igniting a heat in his heart. The type of fire he thought he’d never experience again. The type of warmth that always kept Bäekhyun together. That melted all the contrasts in Bäekhyun’s soul and merged them into a whole person.

It was foolish of him but, feeling that fire burn inside him, Bäekhyun clung to the first shred of hope he saw drifting on the horizon. 

Kim Jongdäe _couldn’t_ wish to die. He was a genius, a mastermind. There must have been something Bäekhyun hadn’t known. Like that one time when Jongdäe walked into his office and told him he had a plan to make the world a more interesting place (on the next day they set bombs around the government’s food supply silo). Or like when Jongdäe scoffed at Taemin for saying he would destroy his home (Taemin didn’t know back then that Jongdäe had already destroyed everything he cared for earlier that morning). Or like when he told Bäekhyun not to worry because he would turn him into a legend (and he did).

Back in times, he was the backbone of Bäaekhyun’s every success thanks to his wit and intelligence. He stood behind every act of violence against the corrupted government and when it fell he was already addicted to resistance. He was the designer and the puppetmaster but Bäekhyun was more than happy to comply with his wishes. That was their way of winning the war. 

They were a dangerous combination. Dangerous to the world and to each other. The kind of duet that claimed to not care until it was too late.

Had Bäekhyun ever told Jongdäe that he filled the void in his heart? Had he ever thanked him for making him whole? For giving him the heat that allowed him to melt like glass, until he bent and reshaped into a man this reality needed him to be?

Had Jongdäe known that he was the core of Bäekhyun’s well-being and that nothing, not even losing the world, compared to the pain he felt when Jongdäe was thought to be dead?

Had he known that Bäekhyun would follow him to the bottom of hell if Kim Jongdäe asked him prettily? (Because he could be so pretty if he only wanted to. Had he known that he was pretty? Bäekhyun had to make sure to ask him once they got out of here.)

“Well, Bäekhyunnie?” Taemin crossed his arms on his chest and his face morphed into a grin, “Are you going to let your friend die just like that?”

Bäekhyun’s heartbeat slowed down, along with the time. Jongdäe simply had to have a plan, Bäekhyun just needed to play along. 

He took a deep breath in, pulling a mask on and, with his eyes devoid of any emotion, looked at Taemin. _Oh, how confident he appeared. How sure that he would break Bäekhyun at last. He calculated so smartly, hoping he would tangle him into one of his sick games. Poor thing didn’t know that he could never win against Bäekhyun with Jongdäe by his side._

The sound of his pounding heart was the only thing Bäekhyun could hear and, in his ears, it sounded like a war-drum. 

“He asked nicely didn’t he?” Bäekhyun sneered sardonically, voice and eyes ice cold. “Kill him for all I care.”

With the corner of his eye he saw Jongdäe stubbornly raise up his chin.

_How fortunate it was that Bäekhyun told his lies so easily._

_//_

They decided to put a chain around Bäekhyun’s neck too, before announcing the final verdict. 

“We don’t want you to bite,” smiled Taemin sweetly.

“Isn’t that a bit dehumanizing?” asked Taeyong softly, voice pitched so low that only Bäekhyun and Taemin could hear him.

“He deprived himself of humanity by now,” Taemin hissed through his clenched teeth. Something dark and pained shined at the bottom of his eyes, “He betrayed a friend. Someone like _him_ doesn’t deserve to be called a human.”

An old memory flashed through Bäekhyun’s brain. _A memory that seemed years, eons, old. Tender and young Lee Taemin of soft cheeks, strained with tears, who was cradling his bleeding hand to his chest and sobbing ugly until Bäekhyun handed him a tissue and asked if he wanted to talk about it. The next time they met was ten years later on a battlefield when Taemin cut through the skin on Bäekhyun’s cheek, spitting an angry “traitor” in his face._ Bäekhyun wondered if Taemin thought of the same thing. He wondered if it mattered.

“Put a chain on him,” Taemin gripped Bäekhyuns chin, short nails biting into his skin, “Put a collar on this stray dog, before it goes after our throats.”

Bäekhyun smirked and growled, flashing his teeth at Taemin. He hoped that Jongdäe was watching him. He hoped that Jongdäe could see him. That he could see that Bäekhyun wasn’t falling apart, that he saw how willing Bäekhyun was to bend to Jongdäe’s wishes and decisions. How much he believed in Jongdäe’s judgement.

_Because Bäekhyun was never a knight in a shining armour who was holding a gold sword. He was an assassin with a task, in black leather and with a knife in his palm. He was a bait and an executioner, a smoke bomb that blocked the enemies from seeing Jongdäe sneak through their paper-thin defence lines._

A weighty and uncomfortable ring was hung around Bäekhyun’s throat. He made sure to keep himself straight as the metal felt heavy on his neck. People were watching after all. He had to put on a good show.

For a moment the sight of dark tapestry on the walls and Taeyong hovering next to his high chair was blocked by a soft face with almond eyes and pink lips that shaped into “don’t ask”. Bäekhyun blinked with surprise, as the face was instantly matched with a name. Kim Minseok. He used to be his double agent once. Another surprised silent grunt and Minseok was gone along with his rough fingers and a silent apology swept through his features.

 _Ah, so he was the one with the keys to his freedom. How ironic._ Bäekhyun wondered if he also had a role to play in Jongdäe’s little plan. ( _He had to have a plan, hadn't he?_ )

The next moment he was yanked to stand up, and the action made him feel even more dehumanized than the collar around his neck. 

Taeyong was pacing around them, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Everyone in this room knows how destructive chaos can be,” he said, words spilling out of his lips with a speed of light. “It was the chaos after the Environment Catastrophe that led to the first collapse of the governments. Many of you remember how cities turned into dumpsters and how half of the population ended up suffering from economic injustice, health problems and overwhelming poverty.” he drew a shake inhale and Bäekhyun saw a glimpse of that little kid that used to admire him greatly. “I’m sure that some of you… acquired the knowledge of my social background-”

“Taeyong-” Taemin interrupted.

“No, they need to understand our decision!” Taeyong snapped and turned his attention back to the crowd. “I was one of the orphans roaming around the city waiting for the world to change. All of us did. Me, Taemin, Lucas, our late brother Ten… And of course, Byun Bäekhyun too.” he licked his lips. “Which means that he had a choice. All of us had a choice. We chose the side we wanted to support. We chose what we want to believe. It was Byun Bäekhyun’s choice to fight against us when we tried to make this world a better place, it was his choice to fight ugly and ultimately, lose. It was his choice to sacrifice his friend to save himself. That’s why both of them are sentenced to die tomorrow by noon. Kim Jongdäe's death as an act of mercy, Byun Bäekhyun's as a punishement.” 

A half-sob, half-gasp ripped out of one, bird-like ribcage.

“But you promised- no, no, no, no, he cannot die,” Jongdäe breathed helplessly. “That wasn’t- you _lied_ ,” he seethed, voice stuck somewhere between breaking down and breaking a glass with its pitch.

_Until then, Bäekhyun hadn’t really considered that Jongdäe really wanted to die. That he would accept dying if Bäekhyun lived. That the only game he was playing was to make sure that Bäekhyun wouldn’t intervene in Jongdäe’s self-designed death._

That possibility hit Bäekhyun in the head like a hammer and smashed the remaining pieces of coherent thoughts and logical thinking. _Jongdäe wanted to die_. That’s why he refused to look at Bäekhyun more than necessary. 

“Gods, no,” Bäekhyun wailed weakly. _Gods, no, you can’t die, I only got you back._

“That’s my- our final decision,” Taeyong announced but his voice shook at the edges as if he was inches away from changing his mind. “It’s… it’s the right thing to do.”

There was a beat of silence. Nothing but the sound of halting heartbeats. Jongdäe looked like he was about to crumble down. His bottom lip trembling, bony fingers digging in his palms, and thin wrists turning white. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. 

Someone in the crowd started clapping and the glass wall of tension and shock smashed against the cold floor. Taeyong’s shoulder’s line relaxed visibly. Under other circumstances, Bäekhyun would feel sorry for him. Other people joined the clapping until the sound grew into the size of a howling hurricane.

Bäekhyun seemed to be the only one who watched Jongdäe’s lips move. 

Something in his chest squeezed painfully as the first tear rolled down Jongdäe’s cheek.

//

The promise of upcoming death was completely shoved at the back of his mind by the time Bäekhyun was thrown to a concrete cell. He had lived for months, feeling like a dead person walking, he could _manage dying_.

But Jongdäe… Jongdäe couldn’t die. Not when, in Bäekhyun’s eyes, he had barely come back to life. No, it certainly wasn’t an option. 

Bäekhyun sat down in the corner of his cell and looked at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all of his questions. He still had a few hours left till dusk. Exactly a few hours to come up with an impeccable plan to apologize to Jongdäe and save his life.

How hard could it be?

//

Giving him his old uniform to wear was a nice touch.

They must have concluded that his death would have a stronger impact if he looked the way he did at his best times. Smart move. Bäekhyun would probably do the same thing.

(That’s because - even if they loved to deny it so much - they were all made of the same copper-coloured gold with the same quicksilver boiling in their veins.)

It was Minseok who clipped his hands behind his back and a ring around his neck. Bäekhyun wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He flinched when Minseok walked into his cell, armoured with a paralizator and a holster tucked beneath his armpit. 

“Came to gloat?” Bäekhyun sneered, standing up on his heavy legs. He was vaguely aware that he must have looked like a disaster with his face pale, dark eyebags and worn-out leather uniform. 

He didn’t expect Minseok to dart his eyes away. He expected him to laugh in his face.

“Came here to do my job,” Minseok murmured and silently moved to tie Bäekhyun’s hands behind his back. 

There was no point in fighting now. There was nowhere to go. 

Minseok’s shaking fingertips were brushing against the inside of Bäekhyun’s wrists as he struggled with metallic rope. He seemed nervous, as if he was dealing with a ticking bomb. Bäekhyun couldn’t help but internally purr with satisfaction. _Old habits die hard_ , he supposed. 

He tipped his head backward and twisted it to the side, looking Minseok straight in the eye.

“Scared I will explode, ‘Seok?” he murmured, smirking. 

Minseok gulped but managed to hold his gaze. They stared at each other like that for a moment, until the electricity beneath Minseok’s fingers popped reminding that he didn’t finish tying a perfect loop around the wrists. Bäekhyun watched his face the entire time.

He wondered if Minseok gave up on their principals when they were still in the state of war, or if it happened once they lost everything. He wondered if Minseok betrayed them at some point. He wondered if he watched Jongdäe suffer all these months. 

Bäekhyun could taste the rage forming down his throat. Minseok clicked his tongue with a mixture of amusement and displeasure. His fingers were pressed inside Baekhyun's wrists, as if he tried to feel his pulse. 

“He stared at me the same way you do,” Minseok huffed in disbelief, nails grazing across Bäekhyun's skin. Their eyes met. “Jongdäe,” he added. 

“Don't you dare-” Bäekhyun hissed, all tense muscles and quivering heartbeat. 

Minseok leaned forward, head looming over Bäekhyun's shoulder. "Watch your pulse, Bäek. It seems to be one thing you can't control." He whispered, but he might have as well screamed. "He can't either."

There was something odd about his voice, something almost warm, but Bäekhyun couldn't put a finger on what exactly was that. He pressed his lips into a thin, stubborn line. 

"You're worth of each other, you know?" Minseok moved away. Something exploded in Bäekhyun's chest. 

Minseok’s fingertips lingered on the rings that bound his hands together for a moment before he stepped back.

“You don’t even realize how lucky you are.” he said, crossing arms on his chest. “You’re not a good person, Bäek. And you went absolutely rampant after he was taken away from you. Everyone who knew you even a bit could tell why. The things you’ve done…”

“We were in the state of a war,” Bäekhyun barked back. “I was merely fighting back.”

“The system? Please, you’re an anarchist who wants to be worshipped akin to a god, but it doesn’t give you the right to-”

Something in Bäekhyun’s heart snapped, “Well, neither did they have the right to take Jongdäe away and yet they did!” he screamed, the ice in his eyes melting under the blazing fire of his soul.

Minseok flinched. Muscles flexed under his skin as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Bäekhyun knew him long enough to know that he was slowly losing his temper but it didn’t scare him. There weren't many things left that scared him.

“Right… the final phase of the war… It was not about the people anymore, was it?” Minseok laughed faintly, “It was about Jongdäe. And to you he was never a person, was he? He was the deity that you wanted to worship and be equal too.” 

Trying to be as subtle as he could, Bäekhyun swallowed the lump in his throat. He had a feeling that Minseok had seen right through him, because he only sighed, the tension dissolving as if he had already made peace with the truth. When he spoke again, his voice was clear like a bell and soft like a ball of wool.

“You are so lucky, Bäek,” he repeated, “To have him back.”

He left, not sparing Bäekhyun a glance, completely missing on the absolute shock that painted on his face. He left before, he heard the sound of Bäekhyun’s erratic heartbeat filled the room and before Bäekhyun’s knees buckled under his weight.

He left before Bäekhyun realized that the rings that were supposed to restrain him, weren’t clasped. 

//

On the first glance, Jongdäe looked like he was about to spread tiredly on Bäekhyun’s tiny couch. He would stretch his limbs out. Would make his body long and lovely. His hazy gaze would sweep the room, until it stopped on Bäekhyun. His eyes would crinkle up and his lips would widen in the sweetest of expressions - barely a smile and almost a smirk.

On the second glance, Bäekhyun’s heart constricted in his chest. The spark in Jongdäe’s eyes was dimmed. His cheeks were hollow and his skin ash-pale. The clothes - so similar to the fitted suits and black shirts he used to wear - were hanging on him, making him look even skinnier. He looked like his body was too worn-out to keep going. 

He was a ghost Bäekhyun feared seeing.

If he moved closer and if their shoulders brushed, would it change anything? Would someone bluntly point that out as they stood on the platform, watching the people whisper and gossip about them? Was the spotlight a blessing or a curse? (Baekhyun still wasn’t sure whether the unclasped buckle of his shackles was a trick or a life-changing opportunity. He wondered who fancied playing with him one last time.)

They were being pushed forward, until they stood side by side: until they breathed the same air. It’s refreshing. The electricity popping around Jongdäe made Bäekhyun’s blood bubble like fizzy pop.

It hardly occurred to him that he was meant to die within the next hour. How could he worry of something that trivial when he had Jongdäe to save right by his side?

The crowd gathered outside was even bigger than the one gathered for their set-up trail. The room was massive, years ago it could have been a ball-room, but old tapestry faded into the color of greyish merlot and the layer of dirt on the floor was so thick that it was impossible to tell if the floor was made of wood or of stone. The nicest touch were the chandeliers, hanging low on the ceiling. They looked like tears - clear and sparkling. Bäekhyun thought of his diamond knife hanging by Taemin's hip. It shined in the same unyielding way. 

His fingers flexed with anticipation. 

The plan was very general and simple: get the knife, make the attention focus on himself and subtly push Jongdäe outside, hoping he would catch the idea. 

It was a terrible plan, that Bäekhyun was aware of. But then, plans had never been something he was good at. (Besides, anything would do as long as it granted Jongdäe's survival.)

He was good at barking, that's what Taemin said. So - Bäekhyun decided - he would be the most rabid hound they had ever seen. 

With his deep, calm voice Taeyong informed the crowd what was the purpose of this meeting. It was a formality. Everyone wanted to see the final fall of Byun Bäekhyun. The war was over but his significance in it was out of the question. Hell, at some point he _became_ the war. 

As he listened to all the sins and wrongs he committed, Bäekhyun's thoughts traveled to Jongdäe standing next to him. Through his bangs, he could see how he kept his eyes low and how tightly his lips were pressed. Bäekhyun wondered: how Jongdäe felt listening to all of that, knowing that until the end people never fully realized that he was the designer of all grand resistance movements. Was he proud? Or did he regret? Bäekhyun would ask him if he makes it out alive. 

“Do the defendants have something to say?”

Beside Bäekhyun, Jongdäe took a long shuddering breath. Sounded like the air was about to explode him from the inside. Bäekhyun didn’t expect him to speak, until he saw the white of Jongdäe’s gritting teeth. 

His eyes were blazing hot when he raised his gaze. 

“I hate you all,” his voice was barely above a whisper, but every syllable was stitching itself hard into Bäekhyun’s bleeding heart. “You’re not better than us. Fucking _monsters_.” 

And Bäekhyun couldn’t help but ask himself if that category included him more than the others. Jongdäe slouched and his head dropped down once again, the line of his muscles pinched and tense as if he was carrying the weight of the world itself.

Bäekhyun straightened his back. Initially, he didn’t expect Jongdäe to utter a word but now, knowing that Jongdäe still had the energy to show a minimal resistance, he was even more eager to set the room on fire. 

He felt the eyes of the entire crowd on himself as he rolled his head, revealing the smooth skin on his neck - the only extent of his skin that wasn’t marked with dozens of scars. Fearlessly, Bäekhyun stepped forward. He relished in the faint gasps and ginger steps back. It was something he always craved greatly - to have power over people despite the shackles binging his hands. To have their undivided attention despite appearing defeated.

They should know that Bäekhyun was never harmless. Certainly not with Jongdäe behind his back like a backbone of Bäekhyun’s entire being. 

“Jongdäe is so right. You are a bunch of motherfucking monsters. Ha!” Bäekhyun laughed dramatically, “You’re much worse than that. You are liars. Ugly, ugly liars, that pretend that their truth is less violent despite dripping with cruelty.” he took another step forward, wondering when would anyone stop him. “You have blood on your hands, put pretty lace-like gloves on and pretend that the world is better now. Bullshit.” he spat out, watching Taemin’s facial expression morph from blank to outraged. “Wouldn’t it be fair if I listed your sins just like you’ve just done with mine? Perhaps, you should let me know where to begin, we don’t want to miss out on anything now, do we?” he stopped with a horrid grin splitting his face in half. He stopped with a long, diamond blade resting against his neckline. 

“One more word and-” Taemin pressed the knife harder. Bäekhyun felt his pulse spike under its sharp touch.

“And what?” he taunted. “You’ll kill me?” _or will you try to go after my love first?_ “Please, Taemin, that’s so yesterday.” 

The tip of the blade traveled across his neck, leaving a pale red mark along its way, until it rested in the hollow between his collarbones. 

“Shut up, Byun.” grumbled Taemin. The anger was painting his cheeks red and his hand shook slightly. The blade unfamiliar and cold in his hand. 

Bäekhyun smirked. He needed Taemin hot with rage to melt him like liquid glass. _Just press a little bit more. Make him take another step, make his hands shake, throw him off his balance, make him lose his upper hand-_

//

It wasn't until then that Jongdäe recognized the invisible cloak hugging Bäekhyun's body tight. He never called it a mask. He called it a cloak because it was impossible to see through Bäekhyun's act.

But right now - Jongdäe had: he had seen all the darkness and lightly stirring in his soul and he thought, “maybe, I could try living one more time.”

//

“Why would he stop though?” Jongdäe’s voice sounded clean and clear against the dirty tapestry and ugly secrets written across these ancient walls. “You asked if we have something to say, he chose his truth.” his shadow moved across the floor, until Bäekhyun knew that Jongdäe was standing right next to him. He could feel his warmth on the sleeve of his jacket. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing since the beginning? Begging me to tell you the truth?” an echo of fierce Jongdäe from the past rang through his vocal cords. “So here you have it. The truth is that we were awful. But you were equally bad.” he finished neatly. 

There was a beat of silence - for the message to sink in maybe - and then the room erupted with loud murmurs. Their volume was raising up the room and pushing the old windows open to the point when they were seconds away from crashing into thousands of pieces. Bäekhyun felt himself smiling. A warm weight was resting against his shoulder - a promise and a reassurance. A ‘you are not alone’. (Until that moment both of them were alone. Now they were almost together.)

And then, all of the sudden, a sharp shove sent Bäekhyun stumbling to the side. His hands involuntarily wrenched free from the loosely tied rings to keep him from falling. A few thick drops of blood trickled down his fingers at the impact of metal being shed away, the same moment loud voice resonated through the room:

“And if we’re all just the same bad, you have no right to hold the power of these lands.” the voice cracked, being spoken through the speaker, but every syllable was drilling into one’s mind. 

Someone moaned in pain. Someone screamed loudly. Taemin cursed under his breath, calling for the guards to gather around him and Taeyong, completely neglecting Jongdäe and Bäaekhyun. 

The hidden smoke bombs exploded all at once - all of them carefully mounted in the diamond chandeliers. 

Outside the door, down the hallway someone shot a run and the door burst open, lightened up with the flames. People started screaming and Bäaekhyun threw his electricity charged shackled far into the room. Something detonated by the door and the room grew darker. 

The smoke was biting at Baekhyun’s eyes as he tried to widen them in order to see something (someone, Jongdäe) through the grey veil. 

And it was a sight to see indeed. A picture that reminded him of his old days. A pure madness exploding from the middle of the crowd. The shouting was melting with the sound of blades and sabers clashing against one another. The violence was brewing quickly among the people in the crowd. Old habits die hard - everyone was armed with blades made of silver and pocket pistols burned out in lava.

It seemed that despite the best intentions, the war wasn’t over yet.

Someone called for mercy. Another person’s laugh raised above the noise. _Violence brings out the worst in people._ In a haze of the moment, Bäekhyun saw Minseok’s face spread in a wide grin flashing from the center of the cyclone.

 _Ah, so that’s what it was…_ he mused. It seemed quite fitting. Minseok had always had grand aspirations. 

Metal clanged against the floor loudly and someone pushed a knife in Bäekhyun’s direction. 

“Keep up, Bäek!” Howled Jongdäe, his leg high as he kicked Taemin right in the middle of his chest, his hands low, unclasped rings hanging around his thin wrists. “Move, move, move!” he yelled as Bäekhyun didn’t move by an inch, bewildered. 

“B-but-” Bäekhyun stuttered hopelessly. The two top buttons of Jongdäe’s shirt were opened revealing his heaving chest, covered with a maze of white and pink scars. The sight took his breath away but pushed his words through his throat. “I was supposed to save you!” he screeched loudly, the message barely audible through the noise.

Jongdäe quickly strode forward to stand right in front of Bäekhyun. He leaned down, grabbed the diamond-edged knife and thrust it into Bäekhyun’s open hands. A spark of electricity jumped as their skin met.The world narrowed to Jongdäe’s eyes dark with passion and determination. Bäekhyun didn’t register his hand laying atop of his jacket, until it was curling around the leather front.

Jongdäe yanked him forward. 

“If you really wanted to save me then you fucking better save yourself along the way.” he hissed sharply at Bäekhyun and leaned in, closing the distance between their lips.

Because it was so Jongdäe to kiss Bäekhyun for the first time in the middle of a battlefield, seconds away from dying and inches away from being sliced open.

“Meet me behind the pagoda outside, in an hour. I have something left to do,” Jongdäe hushed quickly, breaking the kiss. He turned around on his heel and jumped off the platform, “Better not be dead, Bäeks.” he called over his shoulder, tipping his head politely, as if they were conversing by a stream in the forest, not a soon-to-be-spilled stream of blood. 

Corners of Jongdäe’s lips were curled up and Bäekhyun’s heart swelled.

Seconds later he stepped in the crowd, his lithe silhouette disappearing under the sea of sharp knives, bright sabers and pistols that shot lasers. Bäekhyun straightened his back. With the corner of his eyes he saw someone aim at him with a blade, a fan of daggers on the other hand.

“Lee Taemin,” Bäekhyun smirked at him and bowed politely. He twisted his own knife and pointed its tip at his opponent. “Shall we?”

Taemin’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweat glistering at his forehead. 

“We shall.” 

//

The sun would be at its peak if it wasn’t for the thick, grey clouds spreading across the sky. Bäekhyun kicked the door open and was instantly hit by a blow of rain-scented air. He licked his lips, tasting a bit of the humidity, trying to rub off the lingering coppery aftertaste of blood.

That was how the freedom always tasted for him: sticky and soaked with untamability. Freedom always tasted fresh on his tongue. 

The building behind him was shaking to the core. He had a feeling that someone had set up a bomb in there. 

He didn’t care though.

An invisible string of fate tugged him forward, instinctively leading him towards the pagoda. He could see it’s rooftop from faraway: the emerald wet tiles shimmering under the grey daylight. The view was so magical, oddly peaceful, so out-of-this-world that it muffled the shouting and crying coming from the old building he just left. (If Bäekhyun lived there, he would call it a castle, but Taemin and Taeyong believed in democracy. Although Bäekhyun was pretty sure that they were no longer in charge - the fate seemed to favour Minseok’s troops more tonight.)

Jongdäe was leaning against one of the pillars of the pagoda. Bäekhyun’s steps halted, the universe pressing a pause at the natural flow of the time for him to _watch_. Watch and admire. Jongdäe looked different. Closer to the form Bäekhyun had remembered from the past: disheveled hair, furrowed eyebrows and curious eyes fixed in the horizon. He didn’t look like a ghost anymore - not when he wore a tiny, victorious smile on his lips and not when the front of his shirt was drenched in sweat and smudged with blood.

“Jongdäe,” Bäekhyun breathed out. 

The knife he was holding fell out of his hand. It didn’t make a sound as it touched the ground - moist soil muffling the noise effectively. Jongdäe’s eyelids fluttered heavily, his head cocked to the side as he spared Bäekhyun a glance.

He wore tiredness handsomely but Bäekhyun wasn’t sure it was fortune to point that out now.

“You made it out alive,” Jongdäe noted.

Bäekhyun rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you told me to do so…” he trailed off. Jongdäe’s eyebrow traveled up at the blunt admission. Bäekhyun quickly changed the subject. “Where were you just now?” _I was sick and worried, I looked for you after I added a cross over Taemin’s heart as a reminder that I’m alive and well while he will be shaking in fears and uncertainty for the rest of his life._

Brick by brick the tension between them building was up. Neither could find it in himself to voice it out yet. Not until the tension would build a castle higher than any other fortress. Somewhere where they could keep their hearts safe. Jongdäe shrugged.

“Just making sure that my end of the bargain was fulfilled,” he explained vaguely.

“Which was?” Bäekhyun prompted.

Jongdäe rolled his eyes, mouthing something akin to ‘nosy’.

“Let’s say that Minseok wasn’t going to risk his head for us, if I didn’t offer to do something big for him.” Jongdäe held his chin high but somehow looked like he shrunk in himself. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with Bäekhyun’s blue ice on himself. “I deleted some files for him. Important files. Perhaps files that validated Taeyong’s right to… make decisions.” he finished quietly but with a proud lilt. 

The heart in Bäekhyun’s chest stuttered at the familiarity of the situation. The overwhelming pride on Jongdäe’s behalf.

“You fucked them over once again?” he laughed breathly. “Gods, and they still don’t know.”

“And they never will,” Jongdäe replied quickly. His teeth were sunk in his bottom lip, eyes darting anxiously from Bäekhyun to the ground. How he still managed to look magnificent was beyond Bäekhyun’s imagination. “I… I think it’s over for me. I-” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I went through too much, I don’t think… I’m not cut for this anymore. They pulled something out of my chest and burned and sliced at it until they shaped something completely new. The puzzles just… don’t _fit_ anymore.” 

Something was thrown out of the window, a loud crash bouncing across the empty ground. Neither of them paid mind to that. 

“Okay,” said Bäekhyun finally, leaning over the pillar next to Jongdäe.

“Okay?” echoed Jongdäe with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say after everything you accomplished? Minseok is mad at you for screwing the last couple of months but I know that he will bring you back on board if you wanted. You’re a legend. You’re…. You matter.”

Blood drummed through Bäekhyun veins.

“You matter more to me, than I do to them,” his voice was raspy and he knew he sounded restless. As if he ran a marathon. Or was on the verge of drowning. Or as if he was fighting a battle against his pride. 

Jongdäe took a shaky breath in. His eyes flickered to Bäekhyun. They were cold at the center and soft and fuzzy at the edges. Eyes of a person full of conflicting emotions. The hesitation leaking out of his pores.

“You have to understand, Bäeks…” Jongdäe’s fingers clenched around his shirt cuffs, “It’s not easy for me to believe _that_. God, I wanted to die so badly. I wanted to die until a few hours ago.”

Bäekhyun realized that he had never known pain until he heard that.

“Because of me?” The question was paper-thin and Bäekhyun was scared that the wind would end up taking it before Jongdäe heard it.

Jongdäe shook his head sharply.

“No. It was them. They fed me lies. They fed me lies for so long.” he spat out bitterly. “Lies. Awful, terrible, disgusting. And I believed them!” a silver drop sprung out of the corner of Jongdäe’s eye. _A tear_ \- Bäekhyun realized. He had never seen Jongdäe cry. “They told me… That you knew where I was.” he raised his gaze. “That you knew and you didn’t care. That you… left me to suffer and rot alone.”

Anger flared up in the pit of Bäekhyun’s stomach. His hand clenched and his expression darkened.

“I will kill-” 

“Don’t.” Jongdäe’s hand flew to grip Bäekhyun’s biceps. “Just. Stay. For a moment at least.” he chuckled but there was no real trace of happiness there. “You were away for so long that I just. Missed you.”

A cry of anguish was heard coming from the castle. Bäekhyun felt his heartbeat in his throat. Muscles stiff as if they wanted to keep the erratic sound inside him. They were running out of time.

“Jongdäe, I didn’t know, if I knew- I thought…” the heartbeat broke his voice in half, words bleeding on his tongue and lips as Bäekhyun spoke. “I thought you were _dead_ . When I saw you yesterday… I was… _Fuck._ It was the best day of my life.”

The grip around Bäekhyun’s arm tightened.

“I thought you had a plan,” Bäekhyun continued squeakily. The truth was coming out of him in waves, ripping the seams of his cotton-like armour. “I played along, that’s why I said that if you wanted to- you know- then they should respect that choice. If I could take it back…”

Jongdäe flinched at the impact of the declaration, at the implications of his actions. He shut his eyes close, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows. His chest was rising and falling irregularly. Bäekhyun waited. 

The rain started drumming into the rooftop of the pagoda, spilling tears Bäekhyun and Jongdäe didn’t have anymore. 

“If you took it back, I would still insist.” Jongdäe squeezed his eyes tightly before opening them again. _Bäekhyun had always loved the mismatched colors of his irises_. “I knew that you had to live on. You are… important… to the world” his lips wobbled at the corners. He didn’t have to specify. _You are important to me. Important in my world._

Bäekhyun looked at the sky, praying to the gods and devils to stay strong.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said finally, fixing his gaze back at Jongdäe. Hollow cheeks but eyes sparkling under the dull sky. In a moment of boldness, Bäekhyun;s hand found its way to cup Jongdäe’s cheek. He felt bone under his fingertips. “Everyone knows that I don’t deserve you. Even Minseok.” 

Jongdäe cracked a smile.

“His opinion is of little significance.” Jongdäe waved his hand. “He has a thing for me.”

“He has a thing for you?!” Bäekhyun repeated angrily. A hint of jealousy skipping over his tongue, “He has a thing for you and he didn’t help you out?”

“I don’t think he knew I was here until recently. I was kept quite a secret, don’t you know? I’m precious apparently.” Jongdäe’s fingers traced random patterns on Bäekhyun’s arm as he grinned at him, sharp teeth and mischievous curves. 

Bäekhyun gulped and Jongdäe’s grin widened. His face was moving suspiciously close to Bäekhyun’s.

“Anyway, I never reciprocated,” he added after a moment. “I have an eye on someone else,” he poked the skin underneath his white eye. _The wicked eye_ \- that’s how Bäekhyun used to call it. 

Their bodies were so close that their hesitancy and awkwardness mingled together, bringing them even closer. Tying them like a vine (the poisonous type), until they were chest to chest, forehead to forehead.

This time Bäekhyun recognized that glint in Jongdäe’s eyes. An open invitation to proceed with the plan.. 

Wasting no time he kissed the corner of Jongdäe’s lips. A shy kiss. Barely two pairs of lips bumping into each other’s vicinity. It felt more proper considering that Jongdäe spent months believing that Bäekhyun forgot about him. That thought alone was turning his heart into mush. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” Jongdäe’s fingers curled around Bäekhyun’s nape, fingers leaving marks on his flesh, “You little shit, I waited too long to end up getting something like that.” he huffed and closed the distance once again.

Bäekhyun’s hand tentatively moved to rest at the back of Jongdäe’s neck to bring him closer, to tilt his head for better access, to lick at the bottom lip of his mouth and to slip his tongue into Jongdäe’s mouth to-

The roaring sound of the fight flooded the yard, spilling from the building. The ground shook beneath their feet. Jongdäe broke the kiss, cursing loudly. Arm still hooked over Bäekhyun’s neck, he curled into his chest, head peeking over his shoulder. 

“They don’t know where we are,” he whispered into Bäekhyun’s ear. “We still have time to…”

Bäekhyun bit his bottom lip. Jongdäe didn’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand what he meant. A one-time offer to change his life. To laugh at fate. To mock their past and screw over their supposed future. Bäekhyun trembled as put his hands on Jongdäe’s shoulders to look him in the eyes properly.

“Minseok will be a good leader and we- us-”

Jongdäe exhaled loudly. His eyelids fall to cover the mirrors his eyes were. Bäekhyun felt him reshape beneath his fingers. Bones connecting at joints, muscles filling his skin, wild visions flowing through his blood.

When Jongdäe he looked confident and focused. Whispered promises brushed aside for the time being. Shy kisses tucked at the corner of his mind. He straightened his back to look Bäaekhyun in the eye.

“It’s not going to be easy. We need to escape both Taemin and Minseok if you really want to start over.”

Bäekhyun nodded, feeling his body warm up with hope and anticipation. He leaned down to pick up his knife. The blue in his eyes was as crystal clear as the tip of his blade: an act of trust and openness. 

“Do you have a plan?” he asked, adjusting the straps of his jacket. 

Jongdäe hummed, palm resting above Bäekhyun’s heart, eyes watching something behind his back. 

“Where are they?!” someone roared from far-away.

“An easy one.” Jongdäe whispered, a smirk lilting his voice sweet, “We have to run and never stop.”

It felt like a shot of pure adrenaline being shot into Bäekhyun’s veins. He felt himself nodding.

“I think I can do that.” 


	2. The epilogue

**The epilogue**

A person in a long, dark cloak and a hood covering half of their face crossed the street of a tiny town, situated nearby the country’s border. The locals didn’t know much about him, other than that he owned a small cottage a few miles away from the town in which he lived with his companion. They inhabited the cottage a few years ago - no one really remembered how long had passed.

“He has a deep scar running across his face and eyes so cold that the first time he looked at me, I felt like he wanted to turn me into an ice sculpture,” shared the shop-keeper once. She always acted too smug about knowing the most about the mysterious man. 

“I’ve seen him with his lover once,” said proudly one of the local trouble-makers (weirdly none of them ever wanted to come close to the cottage). “And let me tell you that he doesn’t look as intimidating when he looks at that other guy.” 

“Do you think that they are criminals?” the eyes of the shop-keeper sparkled with excitement.

“Criminals?” snorted an elderly lady, sitting on the footsteps of her house. “In our town? You are being ridiculous now, love. The capital is where crime thrives. If they were criminals they would go to the capital.”

Those and many other rumours flocked after the stranger with a scar that ran across his face and his shy companion who hardly ever left the cottage. The gossips, however, always stilled when either of them stepped into the city. The eyes of the locals fearfully turning away as the cloaked man crossed their streets and visited the marketplace. 

It didn’t go unnoticed that he always carried a weapon attached to his waist: a flash of a black pistol, a bright gleam of a sharp dagger, or a metallic glint of light sabers handle. 

The shop-keeper was ready when the man opened the door to her store.

“How can I help you?” she asked, barely concealing the shaking of her voice.

But the man only waved his hand, dismissing her wordlessly. He always did that, but she always asked. It was a part of their ritual. She picked up a random newspaper and pretended to read some article, while in reality, she watched him as he put the products into his basket. Eggs, milk, fruit, and sometimes a small bag of crisps. “The crisps are not for me,” he slipped once when the shop-keeper looked at him the first time he picked them. He said that with a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips. _ He looked younger when he smiled _ \- she thought then. 

Today, aside from the usual products, he also picked a few cans of canned fish (“no additional oil added”). Before the shop-keeper looked away, the icy blue eyes met hers.

“It seems like we got a cat.” he shared, even though she didn’t ask.

“That’s… lovely,” she gasped, storing the information in her brain for later use.

The man pushed the hood off his head and put the basket on the counter. His hair, as always, was in the colour of the first snow. The shop-keeper always wondered if the shade was natural or did he dye itregularly. She never dared to ask, instead, she cast her gaze down and started ringing up the products. The man picked up the abandoned newspaper and studied the front cover for a very long period of time. Eventually, he handed it to her.

“That would be all plus the newspaper.”

“For the cat?” she asked and he snorted but didn’t respond. 

He quickly paid for everything and, unhurriedly left the store. He never seemed to be in a hurry but always went straight home - never stopping to chat with anyone or take a walk around the town.

The shop-keeper sighed watching him pull on his hood, his cloak fluttering with every gust of wind. She dreamed of someone loving her as much as this man loved his hidden-from-the-world companion.

//

J ongdäe, as always, was sitting on the porch, waiting for Bäekhyun to come back from his weekly trip to the town. He rarely left the premises, choosing the company of nature over the nosy eyes of locals. Every time he made an appearance in the town, he felt like he was put under a spotlight - spotlight that he never grew used to. Bäekhyun had always been his shield after all.

“He still is,” Jongdäe murmured to the cat napping on his lap.

In the black cloak and dark jeans, under the grey light casted by the sun covered by clouds, in Jongdäe’s eyes, Bäekhyun was still the brightest thing in the world. He smiled at him delicately from the distance and, even after all these years, Jongdäe still felt dizzy from this smile.

“So, does he have a name yet?” Bäekhyun asked, helping Jongdäe get up from the steps of the porch.

The cat, now cradled in Jongdäe’s arms, purred in response.

“I was thinking - Fox!” Jongdäe beamed and Bäekhyun rolled his eyes.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” he said, pushing the door open and walking into their house.

“Why not?” Jongdäe pouted, taking the shopping from Bäekhyun and setting the bags on the table. “He is orange, foxes are orange, therefore he shall be named Fox.” 

Bäekhyun shook his head with disbelief. He loved Jongdäe’s brain, he really did, but sometimes he was really surpassing himself in his ideas. Setting the canned fishes into the shelves Jongdäe’s voice easily melted into a pleasant chatter. Bäekhyun liked it when Jongdäe was chatty, it was his silent days that he feared the most.

That’s why, he instantly picked on when the words died in Jongdäe’s throat.

“Wha-” started Bäekhyun, never finishing the question, as his eyes fell to the newspaper in Jongdäe’s hand. “Shit.” he hissed, “Babe, I’m so sorry I was meant to throw it away before you saw it.” Bäekhyun gently slipped the paper out of Jongdäe’s grasp and slightly shook his shoulders. 

Jongdäe blinked slowly, as if he was waking up from a lucid dream.

“‘S fine,” he whispered and cleared his voice, “I was just caught by surprise,” he added, a tad louder. 

His fingers traced the picture on the front page of the newspaper, stopping for a moment on the print of his own face. Seconds later, he snorted albeit a bit airly and nervously.

“I really used to style my hair like that, huh?” he asked, eyes lightening up a bit. His fingers ran through his unruly dark locks. “A little bit over the top, don’t you think, Bäek?”

Bäekhyun’s arm hooked around Jongd äe’s waist, little finger brushing against his hip bone. 

“Mhm, maybe,” he murmured, resting his head in the crook of Jongdäe’s neck, “But it was sexy.” his lips pressed against the fading bruise above Jongdäe’s collarbone.

Jongdäe sniggered. “Are you saying that I’m not sexy now?” he joked teasingly, the tension finally evaporating out of his system.

Another kiss was pressed to his skin. This time settling at the base of his neck.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that,” Bäekhyun smiled into the skin, before peppering the rest of his throat with pecks until he reached the corner of his lips. “Now you are sexy because you are mine,” he smirked.

Jongdäe angled his head backward, a disgust doing a poor job at diverting Bäekhyun’s attention from the blush dusting his cheeks.

“If only the author of this article knew what a sap you’ve become,” Jongdäe clicked his tongue. “You’d never make it on the front page then.”

“No,” Bäekhyun grinned teasingly, “We would still make it on the front page as the most attractive and loving couple the world has ever seen.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Jongdäe cried miserably but didn’t protest in the slightest when Bäekhyun pulled him into another long kiss.

Completely disinterested in romantic shenanigans Fox jumped on the table in search of food. He gracefully passed by the bag of apples and huffed with cucumber, making sure it knew of his displease. At last, he stopped in front of the newspaper, it’s weird texture foreign to his little paws. 

The cat tilted his head as if he was trying to make out the title of the main article, letters big and bold, emphasized with a picture of two people. Fox pawed at the paper, flustered with his own incompetence to read. 

**Chën and Bäekhyun:**

**A fever dream or a smart mystification?**

_ This month marks three years since the fall of Lee’s  _ _ Transitional Federal Government (which was followed by, lasting ever since, Kim Minseok’s regime). However, as time goes by, the very existence of the personas that were thought to be crucial to Kim’s coup d’etat, is being put into doubt more and more often. The confusion is stirred further by Kim Minseok’s vague answers to these questions. _

_ “ _ _ Bäekhyun and Chën? I wouldn’t say that their role was of much importance. The coup d’etat would take place either way. If anything, their presence was useful to drag the attention away from general Do, as he set up the bombs in the hallway.” Kim explained politely in the exclusive interview, “Although, now that I think about it. They were crucial in a way. Crucial to each other,” he confessed with a handsome but sad smile. _

_ His words, as expected, only add more fuel to the on-going debate. Some of the theorizers suggest that the Bäekhyun and Chën seen during Lee's trial were nothing more but… actors hired by Kim Minseok, while their real counterparts really died during The Peninsula Collapse... _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and that's the story how x-chen and x-baekhyun became cottagecore gays 
> 
> Reader, my darling!  
> thank you so much for reading, if you made it this far, please make sure to leave a kudos and (that would be just outstanding) a tiny comment! Thank you :3

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Taeyong is intimidating  
> Also me: *had the video of Taeyong becoming besties with a tiny frog playing on repeat*


End file.
